


staring at the rude boy/dancing with the rude boy

by redvineshark



Category: StarKid Productions RPF, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Eventual relationship, M/M, Slow Burn, also overprotective dad bill, i love them, it'll get there i pinky promise, paul/emma is more background but i still love them !!!, they're all a family !! (eventually)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvineshark/pseuds/redvineshark
Summary: Paul and his coworkers are one big family. Kind of. Bill and Paul are best friends and they get along well enough with Charlotte and, well, no one really likes Ted all that much.Emma is just trying her best to help her recluse ex-professor out of the rut he's in which, as it turns out, is a bigger task than she anticipated.Maybe the family needs a couple more members. Maybe someone does like Ted, for once. Maybe Henry just needs an extra push. Or maybe they're all just fucking stupid.
Relationships: Henry Hidgens & Ted, Henry Hidgens/Ted, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Bill does not like Ted. Hasn’t since he started working with him, doubts he ever will. He does, on the other hand, like Paul. Paul is an average guy. Paul is easy to talk to, dependable, knows what he does and doesn’t like. Paul brings Bill a caramel frappe when he runs down to Beanies, and babysits Alice when Bill needs him to, and by god does Alice  _ love _ Paul. Paul is Bill’s best friend. Paul is Bill’s only friend.

Well, his only friend besides Charlotte. He worries about Charlotte sometimes. She’s always been kind of ditzy, but never so vacant. Tired. She takes frequent cigarette breaks, she keeps a flask in her purse, her hands shake when she types. Sometimes, she leaves to call Sam and comes back teary eyed. He brings her a coffee and asks if she’s alright, and she pauses before she says yes. Charlotte reminds Bill too much of himself.

Bill does not like Ted. 

Ted picks apart the little things, Ted smells like cheap liquor and Charlotte’s perfume and even his best shirts are stained. Ted is bad at grooming his mustache and puts too much mousse in his hair. But Ted dresses up for holiday parties and reads sci-fi books under his desk and doesn’t care enough to pry about anything. Ted took him to a bar when his divorce was finalized and kept a hand clasped on his shoulder to keep him upright. Most days Bill needs to be kept upright. Most days Ted is there. Because Bill does not like Ted, but Ted is consistent. And Bill needs a little consistency.

Consistency is Uncle Paul watching Alice when Bill has plans, or needs to work overtime. Except that Paul is pretty sure he has a date tonight. Consistency is Auntie Charlotte coming over last minute in case Paul has to cancel. Except that Charlotte is adamant Sam will be home for “cuddle night.” Bill wants to tear his hair out. (Suddenly, he wishes he had more hair.)

“Hey Ted?”   
  
“I’m not watchin your fuckin kid, man.”

“I’ll pay you.”

Ted stops typing, but doesn’t turn from the screen. “How much?”   
  
“Fifteen an hour?”   
  
“Twenty.”   
  
“Seventeen.”

“Fine." He holds out a hand for Bill to shake. He doesn't. After a few seconds he lets it fall back to his keyboard.

Bill is terrified. Paul is reliable, Charlotte can at least keep Alice out of trouble, but he has no god damn clue what Ted will do. It is then that the question is not whether Bill  _ likes  _ Ted, but rather if he  _ trusts  _ him. The answer is no. But he has no choice. So he writes up an extensive list (where everything in the house is, emergency numbers, and so on) and leaves it on the counter. And another copy on the fridge, just in case Ted ignores the counter and goes for a beer. And then, with a million "call if you need anything, I'm not far"s and "are you sure it'll be alright?"s, he leaves. Sort of. He sits in the driveway for ten minutes wondering if he should cancel his plans and go back in.  _ Then  _ he leaves.

Ted doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do with a kid. What do kids like? Bubbles? Puppies? Candy? Hopscotch? Are Skip-Its still a thing? As it turns out, Alice is more than happy to watch TV in her room or call up her girlfriend and leave Ted to his own devices, so he settles on the couch with a beer (Jesus, Bill, that is a CVS receipt of an emergency list) and flicks through channels. He had expected Alice to be a little younger. Bill made it sound like she was, like, nine or something. And there’s no good TV these days either, because half the channels are occupied by news reports about Peanuts The Squirrel or this annoying commercial for some green little abomination that feels fever dreamish-ly long. 

“God, turn that off. It’s on every radio station now, if I hear it one more time I’ll rip my ears off.” Ted jumps. God, he must be getting old, he didn’t even hear Alice come in.

“What, this Wiggly shit?” He gestures vaguely toward the TV with the remote as he mutes it and turns to face her. She’s leaning over the couch and holds a can of cola toward him before she realizes he’s halfway through a Bud Light.

“Here, I’ll show you how to get to the good channels.”

***

Emma isn’t sure about a lot of things. But she knows for sure that she’s tired. She’s tired when she rolls out of bed and flips the family photo on her bedside table down, she’s tired when she microwaves a breakfast burrito and chews it while she forces on her shoes, she’s tired when Zoe keeps doing runs like it’s fucking high school musical while she restocks the pastry display, and she’s really tired when she splits her tips between her five coworkers at the end of the day and walks out with a whopping $4.32.

But she forgets to be tired when Paul meets her on the sidewalk on his way home from work and asks if she wants to grab something to eat. She’s sure that she really, really wants to. But she’s just as sure that she can’t.

“Hey, trust me, I’d love to. But I kinda have plans? So....raincheck?” She winces as she says it, which she hopes makes her seem more sincere.

“Uh, yeah! Sure! Sorry-”

“No, no! Yeah. Um.” Then there’s this awkward sort of pause where she rocks on her feet and Paul just stares at her with his lips pressed together in that  _ I wish I was never born  _ way that she hates, so she gives him a tight smile and a pat on the back and walks away. “Bye.”

“...Bye.”

It’s loud when her forehead hits the steering wheel. She hopes that bitch from 4b with the dog that barks all night gets a headache. 

Emma regrets the drive every time she makes it. It’s about two hours, if the traffic is forgiving, and there’s next to no reception by the time she gets out there, so she’s stuck with whatever’s on the radio after her phone goes on the fritz. But she feels a little better when she presses the buzzer on the gate and asks Hidgens to let her in, because he always gets so happy, like he’s surprised she’s still coming no matter how many times she does. This time, though, he grunts in response and the gates swing open.

He’s hunched up in his desk chair like he usually is when she comes in. He at least used to be working on something, but now he’s just staring at the wall, mumbling every now and then. Off somewhere. Somewhere he forgets to come back from long enough to eat and sleep and shower. That’s why Emma is there. Except the shower part. Gross.

“Hey, come help me unpack these.” The brown paper bags are full to the brim with mostly cup noodles and non perishables sprinkled in with meat to stick in the freezer and cook up later. And some girl scout cookies she buys out of pity every time she leaves the store. Hopefully the professor is a fan of thin mints.

“Hm?” It takes him a moment to process it, and she watches his eyes slowly flicker over to the kitchen. “Right! Did you get the chicken ones?”   
  
She lifts a family pack of cup noodles. “They only had beef left.”

“...That’ll do.” 

It’s odd, even now, to see him out of his work attire. That being turtlenecks and khakis and beige jackets. Put together. The man in front of her is sleep deprived and dehydrated, clad in sweats that hypothetically fit him once but now drag beneath his feet, and a t-shirt that hangs low when he bends to bring cans from the shopping bags. His cheekbones are more hollow than the last time she saw him; a month ago. Too long without speaking to anyone besides his echo dot. She puts the kettle on and tosses him a bottle of dry shampoo.

“After you have one of those beef things, get dressed.”

“What?”   
  
“We’re going out.”   
  
“...Why?”   
  
“Because you haven’t seen the sun in a week and you’re starting to look like a sad Russian street kid.”

“Oh.” He looks down at his hands, at his fingers. Pale and long and bony. “I suppose you’re right.”

He shovels noodles into his mouth like he hasn’t so much as looked at food in days which, for all Emma knows, is completely accurate. She shoots a text to Paul, and once Hidgens looks presentable enough (after he throws some cologne on because holy shit) she ushers him off to her car. She feels like an Uber, which might be a better option than Beanies, honestly.

“My time is valuable, Emma, use it well.” Hidgens huffs from the passenger seat. She isn’t sure what’s so valuable about staring at the wall all day, but she’s learned not to question most of what the professor says. If his time isn’t valuable, let him think it is. If the apocalypse isn’t coming, let him think it is. If the plant he brought into class isn’t one he discovered himself, let him think it is. It’s easier that way.

“Yeah, well, so’s mine and I spent two hours of it driving out here.” She didn’t mean to snap, but sometimes it’s all you can do to stop him from pouting. 

He goes quiet, then, and sinks into the seat. He’s cleaned up, sure, but the black turtleneck only makes him look paler, and it clings to him desperately. She remembers him being muscular at some point, he’d mentioned playing football in college, but now he looks brittle. 

“We’re getting dinner with some friends of mine.”

“I just ate.”

Emma feels like a mom. Which is dumb, because the professor is fifty four. So, then, maybe a kid in her early forties who has to lug her dad around because he’s unraveling a little and stays glued to Fox news and the funnies in the paper that aren’t actually funny. Or at least how she imagines that would be. “Real dinner, professor.”

He opens his mouth, closes it again a couple times. Like a fish out of water. “Not professor.” Softer than she’s ever heard him speak. Distant, almost.

“What?”

“I was fired last month.”

“Oh.” She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Sorry, man. That sucks.”

He hums in agreement. “Yes, well. I hadn’t been in for months, so I can’t say I blame them.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.” He pauses, “For visiting me.”

Emma nods uncomfortably and turns the radio up. It’s static. She leaves it on anyway, because fuck that conversation.

Once there’s signal, Emma cues up her phone and lets Hidgens flick through songs. He’s impatient to listen to the next song he’s already picked out, so a song never finishes all the way through. It’s not the worst of his quirks, though, so Emma grins and bears it and listens to him hum along. He’s got a pretty nice voice, after all.

By the time they reach Jack’s Grill the sky is dark and the cold air shoves against them like a high school bully. Which would be fine if they were close to the restaurant, but parking is terrible, because of course it is, so they have a six minute walk ahead of them. Emma winces. That can’t be good for Hidgens, even with his two layers. 

“Alright, we’re here.” She twists the keys out of the ignition and moves to open the car door. “Sort of. Sorry.”

“I can walk, Emma, I’m not made of glass.” He mumbles it, but she can hear it clearly on the mostly empty street. Hatchetfield is not a large town.

“I know, pr-” He gives her a look. She freezes. “Hidgens.”

“Henry.”

She nods, slowly. “...Henry.”

They make their way to the doors much quicker than she thought they would, which she’s glad for because she would’ve felt like a girl scout helping Henry cross the street. Paul, and someone she doesn’t recognize, are already seated at a table in the corner, which she guides Henry to. 

“So this is Professor Hidgens?” Paul looks up from his menu, which he probably doesn’t even need because he orders the same thing every time they go to Jack’s. 

“No, I just picked this guy off the street because he looked hungry.” Emma takes a seat and Paul looks scared for a moment before he realizes she’s probably kidding. Then she rolls her eyes at him and he decides she’s definitely kidding. Henry scoffs and neither can tell if he’s genuinely offended when he lifts a menu to cover his face. “And this is…?”

“Bill.” The man seated beside Paul flashes a short, sad smile. She’d heard a lot of things about Bill. Mostly good. Mostly. 

Emma feels her phone vibrate and checks it under the table as discreetly as possible, which was a good move, apparently, because it’s from Paul. Bill had a date. Until an hour passed with the seat across from him still empty. So when Paul came in…She glances up at him and nods sympathetically. Hopefully this Bill guy isn’t as sad as his love life.

“I’m Emma.” She considers offering a hand to shake, but elects against it because awkwardly reaching across the table while avoiding glasses of water and Paul’s arm doesn’t seem like her best idea.

“I know.” Bill smiles wide, and Paul’s head turns sharp to glare at him. Emma tries not to laugh. She laughs anyway. 

Emma tries to peer over Henry’s shoulder to get a look at what he’s considering, just in case he can’t actually stomach it (considering she’ll be paying) but he shifts away from her like there’s some top secret nuclear launch codes between the barbeque ribs and filet mignon. She was hoping to get through the night without being too exasperated, but it just might be a lost cause.

“You’ve, uh, got a kid, right? Alex?” Emma picks at the bread set out for the table and slathers butter on it while she fumbles hopelessly in the dark for any conversation.

“Alice.” Bill brightens briefly, then deflates. “I left her with Ted.” He turns to Paul. “Oh god, I left her with  _ Ted.” _

Paul shrugs as he skims the menu. “She’ll live.”

“Great, thanks.” Bill hangs his head and takes a long, slow sip of water that Emma is pretty sure he’s imagining splashing in his face. Yikes.

“Ted’s not so bad.” Emma tries to reason, but he was pretty bad the few times she’d interacted with him. Really bad, actually. 

“Maybe I should just go home…” Bill starts, and Henry sets his menu down.

“I think I’ll have a greek salad.” Henry remarks contemplatively, and Emma makes eye contact with Paul in a moment of solidarity.

“That’s nice, Henry.” Emma sighs. At least he picked something relatively inexpensive. “I’m driving, so drink for the both of us.”

Henry smiles over a sip of his water. “If you insist.” 

Emma wonders how much of the bread basket she’d have to eat to off-set a couple beers while Bill runs through his order to the waitress. She asks for a cup of gumbo and pinches the bridge of her nose when Henry actually orders three beers with his fucking greek salad.

***

Bill can hardly keep his eyes open the whole drive home, and really just wants to collapse into bed and stay there for the foreseeable future. On the bright side, though, he had taken a liking to that Henry, though Emma’s attitude was a bit off putting. If Paul likes her, though, he’d grow to like her too.

He isn’t quite sure he’s not going crazy when he opens the door. Ted is lounging on the couch with a beer in hand, as expected, but Alice is sat sideways in the recliner opposite it, laughing along with him and reaching for the bowl of popcorn set on the coffee table. Maybe he was expecting fire and blood and warpaint, or maybe he just didn’t want to believe that yet another man gets along with his daughter better than himself, but he smiles and sits next to Ted on the couch anyway.

Maybe, just maybe, Bill can see himself (possibly) liking Ted.


	2. Chapter 2

Paul rarely knows what’s going on. Or, at least, he rarely cares what’s going on. Generally, his rule of thumb is to avoid everything unless he’s directly involved in it. Keeps him out of trouble. Which is why he finds himself sat in his car taking deep breaths and trying not to scream. 

The dinner was excruciating. When Emma had texted him that she was, in fact, free for the night, he thought the clouds had parted and God decided that (just this once) Paul Matthews could have a good day. But then she followed it up with  _ By the way...  _ and Paul remembered that he’s an atheist. 

The car is set into motion and he flicks through a few radio stations before deciding it’s better left off. It’s mostly just commercials and top forty countdowns anyway. Maybe some things are better left to coffee shops. Maybe he should’ve said no when Bill asked to join him. Maybe he should’ve made up some excuse to drag Emma out to his car and take her anywhere but Hatchetfield (except fucking Clivesdale). Maybe he should stay in his room for the next week and only come out to piss and eat corn chips. But instead of any of those things, Paul does what he always does. Paul sits back and lets life happen to him. So he autopilots home, crashes into bed, and tries to forget that he’s a person that exists.

The sun through his blinds reminds him that he does, unfortunately, exist. He fumbles for his phone on the bedside table. No messages. Well, there’s an e-mail from Red Robin telling him he has a free birthday burger this month. He thinks their fries are kind of shit.

Paul does not go to Beanie’s on his way to work. He thinks about it, as he passes, for a morning cup of coffee. Nothing else. No other reason. But he doesn’t. He just doesn’t feel like it, that’s all.

***

Okay, maybe Bill’s kid isn’t that bad. Ted had half expected to get covered in glitter or be forced to clean crayon off the walls. Before he realized that Alice wasn’t a toddler. Thanks, Bill. She likes Star Trek: Next Gen and she makes some damn good cheddar popcorn, so Ted wouldn’t mind babysitting again if he absolutely had to. Well, less babysitting and more Making Sure She Doesn’t Drink/Deb/Die, since she’s a teenager. 

Ted kind of wants to stay there. Just fall asleep half-drunk on Bill’s couch with Bill still asking questions about plots and characters every three seconds, drifting off to Alice’s explanations and phaser rifle blasts. Not blacked out on a barstool in his kitchen, or in his too-big, too-cold bed deciding whether or not to call Charlotte. But all good things must come to an end, or whatever. So he sobers up over tap water and sourdough Bill brought from some restaurant through a couple more episodes of season four, and then he drives the short way home.

He stares at his phone for ten minutes. Just sitting on the bedside table. He knows it would be so, so easy to just call Charlotte because, let’s face it, cuddle night ain’t gonna fuckin happen, and maybe then he could stop staring at the ceiling. Maybe screwing around with another man’s wife is the closest he’ll ever get to a hobby. 

He doesn’t call Charlotte. He falls asleep. He doesn’t dream.

Ted wakes up and feels around the other side of his bed. It takes him a moment to remember he never called Charlotte. Maybe that was for the best. But he sure regrets it when there’s no one making coffee when he stumbles out of bed. Then again, Charlotte makes a shit cup of joe. Too much sugar.

He showers. He’s out of shampoo, so he washes his hair with soap and the little left of his conditioner. He considers shaving, but the clock isn’t so kind, so he figures a little stubble never killed anyone. Probably. He might have to google that later.

He sings along to the radio (loudly. poorly.) and has a smoke against his car in the parking lot while he decides what sort of takeout to have for dinner. He’s just decided on Thai when Paul scares the shit out of him honking his god damn Honda Civic. “Jesus, Paul! You tryin’ to kill me?”   
  


“You’re leaning against your car. In my spot, Ted.” Paul seems more defeated than anything, and Ted grumbles as he moves out of the way and crushes his cig beneath his heel. Lucky bastard should be glad he was about to head in.

“Warn a guy next time.” He huffs and yanks open the doors to the small office building, rushing to the elevator before Paul can get out of his car. Paul is not a fun guy to be stuck in an elevator with. He just stands there and purses his lips and then asks something vaguely sports related in the way that you can tell he doesn’t actually know anything about sports. Like  _ Hey, did you watch the...game last night?  _ without specifying which game, and will freeze if you say yes in fear of being asked any follow up questions. Not that Ted watches much of that shit anyway. It is fun to fuck with Paul every now and then, though. 

Bill is already there when Ted walks in, because of course he is. Bill is always at his desk crazy early, even when there isn’t much to do. He’s, like, 98% sure he’s just there to not be at home without Alice there. Sometimes he stands around outside after work with his hands in his pockets looking like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown. Ted offered him a ride once. He smiled and fixed his scarf and said he was just about to leave. Ted pulled out of the company parking lot and watched him stand outside his car for another five minutes. It’s some National Geographic natural habitat type shit.

Paul walks in not long after. He doesn’t greet everyone with one of his half hearted waves. He just sits at his desk and zones out. Ted hums. He wasn’t the only one who had a rough night, then. “Earth to Paul?”

“Huh?” Paul straightens, realizes Ted was talking to him, and sinks back down. Typical.

Ted is supposed to be reviewing finances. Instead, he drums his fingers on his desk and spends half the day next to the water cooler. When he clocks out and lights a cigarette the moment he walks out the front doors, Bill walks beside him. 

“Say, Ted…” Bill pauses, trying to find the words. “How did you...um. Well.”

“Spit it out, Bill.” He scowls and takes a long drag. This is already giving him a killer headache and Bill hasn’t even finished his sentence.

He takes a deep breath. Ted watches his fists clench and unclench before he shoves them in his coat pockets. “How’d you get along so well with Alice?”

Ted blinks. Stops walking for a second. “Are you asking me how to talk to your daughter?”

“I dunno. I guess?” Bill sighs and scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s just...in a couple hours, you were...nevermind. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Yeah. You are.” Ted leaves Bill to stand next to the neatly pruned shrubbery beside the curb stops. He flicks his cigarette to the asphalt. “See you tomorrow, Bill.”

“...Thanks?” 

Ted climbs into his car and leans back in the seat for a moment. He watches Charlotte chat with Melissa as they exit the building. He waves at her. She smiles at the ground and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s pretty. He might go as far as to say beautiful. But he doesn’t pick her up, and he doesn’t text her when he gets home. He texts Paul and tells him to get his head out of his ass and get back to normal before he gets fired. Because he sure as hell isn’t going to tell him he’s worried.

***

Ted is an asshole. Paul is  _ pretty sure  _ Ted is an asshole. Paul doesn’t understand how to read texts. Or e-mails. Like, how is he supposed to know what tone they’re trying to convey, right? Which is why he tells himself he won’t text Emma. Just in case he says something weird and she reads it wrong and he makes the whole situation worse.

He didn’t  _ mean _ to piss her off. He just didn’t get Henry’s whole deal, and making fun of people together is basically Their Thing. So, yeah, he poked a little fun at the guy. Just as much fun as he would’ve poked at Bill, or Charlotte, or hell, even Emma. But he might have gone a little far. He knows that Emma goes on those grocery runs just to make sure Hidgens is taking care of himself, and he knows that he’s the closest Emma has to family right now, and he knows that she worries he’s not going to make it if he doesn’t pull it together. But Paul doesn’t think. He just kind of says stuff.

So maybe “hey, let’s all look at the skinny old guy getting a greek salad when he should be eating half the menu if he wants to make it to next Saturday” isn’t the route to go when talking to your girlfriend(???)’s father figure. But Paul hasn’t done this before. Not for real. He had a high school girlfriend that dumped him when they went to college, and then a couple hookups and an IT guy whose name he can’t remember for about three weeks when he first joined the company. Emma, though. He’s pretty sure he loves Emma. Which isn’t a great look when she won’t even call him her boyfriend. And now she might not even call him her...go-to? Date...friend? Guy she makes out with in the Beanies break room when she’s bored?

Whatever they are, Paul doesn’t want it to end. So, because texts can be misleading, he calls her.

It rings four times before she picks up, which is long enough for Paul to consider chucking his phone out the window like it’s about to blow.

“Hey.” She sounds disinterested. Did she forget to check the caller ID? Is she busy? Oh god, what if she doesn’t even remember and Paul is making a huge deal out of nothing?

“Hey.” His voice cracks. He rubs his forehead for a moment. “About last night-”

“Save it.” She sighs. This can’t be good. Paul is about to be murdered. He just knows it. “It’s fine.”

“...Is it?”

“No. But I’m over it.”

“ _ It _ or…”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Paul, I’m not gonna kick your ass or anything.” Emma laughs, and Paul knows she’s shaking her head on the other line. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “But you can’t say shit like that or he won’t let me help him. He doesn’t like feeling...I dunno, helpless.”

“My dad was like that.” Paul lands on the bed with an  _ oof,  _ and grabs his glasses from the bedside table to replace the contacts he removed when he got home. 

“I think that’s just how fifty year old men are.”

“He’s fifty?”

“Fifty four.”

“He looks…”

“Old. I know. He’s just tired.” Emma sounds tired herself, and Paul frowns. “And stressed. I’m pretty sure his hair was grey from the womb.”

Paul laughs at that, and smiles to hear her laughing with him. “Gross.” 

“I’m serious! I don’t think he’s ever relaxed a day in his life.” 

“Is that why you get along so well?”

“Fuck off.” And Paul is glad that he didn’t text her, because he definitely would’ve read into that.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Her voice goes soft. Paul gets a little weak when her voice goes soft. “Come to Beanies tomorrow, okay? Don’t avoid me.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a big tip.” 

“Do I have to split it?”

“Never.”

Paul hangs up with a smile on his face. Through the window, the clouds part. Paul Matthews may have a good night.


End file.
